


Love and Brimstone

by TheWhitesOfYourEyes



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:01:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27176252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWhitesOfYourEyes/pseuds/TheWhitesOfYourEyes
Summary: Dimigard week mini-fic collection.Day one: Justice, LongingDay two: Scars, GhostsDay three: MercyDay four: NicknamesDay five: Past, Future
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Kudos: 19
Collections: Dimigard Week





	1. JUSTICE, LONGING

**Author's Note:**

> A DAY LATE but i done it. fuck

The hill he stands atop is strewn with Imperial blood. A sneer snakes across his face as he stares at her, his teeth bared and his hackles raised. Thoughts of death run through his head. How nice it would be to be slain by her axe. How nice would be to spear her with Areadbar in turn.

A frown skates across her gaze as she looks at him, poised and ready for a fight, imperial blood running through imperial veins. Nothing less than he’d expect from her Majesty. When the sun hits her shield, she shines. It is a good look for her.

Her head should not be attached to her body. She deserves death, deserves the foul stench of rot for all she has taken from the people and from _him._ He longs for the snap of her neck, for the feel of her final breath, a breath he’d hold deep in his heart with all the others he’d taken, reunited with her subjects and her soldiers. She’d fit nicely in his chest, he decides as violet eyes meet his.

He raises his axe. A battlecry stalls in his throat. Only for a moment- he stares at her and she stares at him in turn, and the flash of understanding in her eyes is worse than any axe wound could inflict.

He calls his soldiers to arms. They descend upon the imperials, and the fields run red.


	2. GHOSTS, SCARS

He is covered in scars. His body is a map; them, the roads. Each one hid a story within. Some, he remembers almost fondly. A training accident wraps around his thigh, a blow meant for the professor slides across his calf. The scar near his heart throbs painfully, and it is a good burn.

He stares at himself in the mirror. The candlelight dances across his naked skin. In the gloom, his face flickering between shadow and light, he swears he sees movement. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end.

The smell of blood and perfume fills the room. He barely notices.

He touches the scar near his heart. The scar touches back.


	3. MERCY

_There is no room for mercy on the battlefield. She knows this. She has taken more lives than she could bear to count. Still, her grip falters on her training spear as she looms above him._

_On his knees before her, there is a fire in his eyes. Her heart burns from the intensity. Animal like, calculating, she can feel him in her soul._

_Then, he smiles. It feels savage. “Won’t you finish the job?”_

_She scoffs. Pulling her spear back, she shakes her head. “Dimitri, do you want me to beat you to death with a blunt spear? Get up. I’ve won this round, fair and square.” She reaches her hand for him to take, and he does._

_Before she realizes what’s happening, he’s pulled her forwards. Her feet stumble beneath her as she falls to her knees with a surprised shout, her spear clattering out of her hands. Calloused hands scraping across the ground, she sputters into the dirt._

_He places his foot on the small of her back. “There is no room for mercy on the battlefield,” he says against the back of her throat._

_\---------_

When she awakens, her pillow soaked through with sweat, she gazes at the ceiling.

How long he’s been gone- how long he’s haunted her thoughts.


	4. Nicknames

“El,” he says to himself as he watches her eat from across the room. The word tastes strange on his tongue. It has not been spoken in so long. He no longer knows the typography of its letters, the intricacies of its single syllable. The word Edelgard means _noble, guard._ He thinks of how she guards her heart. “El.”

“What? Are you talking to me?” Sylvain says from his spot beside him, eyeing some girl across the room in turn.

Dimitri shakes his head. “No. I’m just…. Saying something I haven’t been able to say for a while.”


	5. Past, Future

_Young_

They dance across the fields. She teaches him his steps, scolding him as he trips, but it is good natured and though he shrinks away from her judgement he secretly keeps on flubbing his routine so he can hear the passion in her voice once again.

_Old_

Her knuckles crack beneath her paper-thin skin. Nevertheless, she moves across the floor with aged steps, her routine unhampered by her sunken hips and failing muscles, her mind far away as she thinks of practice and kindness and the overwhelming feeling of respect.


End file.
